


if we die at the same time does that still scare you?

by orphan_account



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 365 FRESH, Gen, M/M, Mentions of Violence, hongjoong is hyuna, hwa is hui, kind of messed up??, m y u l t l i n e, not the EXACT same thing as the mv btw, san is edawn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 17:34:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19089820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: (or, alternatively: san has a death wish, seonghwa steals cars, and hongjoong stabs someone to death with a pair of scissors. between the three of them, they have very little time and two million dollars in cash.)or: sanhwajoong, crossed over with triple h’s 365 mv)





	if we die at the same time does that still scare you?

“Nice ride,” the red-head says, half an hour into the thick, dense silence in the car.

 

He’s scarily calm for someone on the run from a scene of crime. Bloodied hands are in his lap, his shoulders are completely straight and his voice doesn’t waver. Outwardly, he looks like a Russian doll, pale and freckled and fragile, but the splatter of blood on his oversized shirt and the way his eyes look like they’ve been frozen over with ice say that he isn’t as helpless as he looks. 

 

_ Pretty _ , his brain supplies, when he chances a glance at the other boy and he notices how the light from the side of the road illuminates his face, how everything about him seems to mellow out against the sharp contrast of the world beyond the fugitive car.

 

“Thanks,” he says, handing him a clean towel from the stack of them on the dashboard. The red-haired boy pauses, and then accepts it, staining the white red with the blood on his hands. When he doesn’t say anything else, Seonghwa makes a sharp turn and adds, “I stole it from my old boss after fucking his wife  _ and  _ his wife’s mistress.”

 

The red-head laughs. A coquettish, sexy sound that reminds Seonghwa oddly of the girls and boys who always come up to him in clubs to have a good time. It sounds a lot better on him, like the tinkling bells after church, the sound of a waterfall in the distance.

 

“Sucks for him, then.” He says, not sounding very sorry for Seonghwa’s old boss, tone flat and bored. He runs a hand through his hair around the same time they pass a street light, and the orangish glow makes his dark eyes shine. “I’m Hongjoong. Are you going to turn me in to the cops?”

 

“I’m Seonghwa.” It’s 02:45AM on a cold Sunday night, and Seonghwa feels oddly calm having a murderer in his illegally obtained vehicle. “I don’t help cops. Trust me, you’re fine.”

 

The corner of Hongjoong’s lips curl up, pretty and inviting, and Seonghwa speeds up until the world around them begins to blur.

 

Neither of them know where they’re going. Hongjoong doesn’t have anyone, not in the city or anywhere else, and Seonghwa’s been on his own for a while. Hongjoong hums along to  _ Red Flavor  _ on the radio quietly, eyes on the road and hands clean against the window, much like a kid seeing the city for the first time, and Seonghwa speedily drives through the empty streets.

 

Then, in the blink of an eye just as they’re driving onto an open road, there’s a flash of white, and there’s a boy in front of the car.

 

Hongjoong, not wearing his seatbelt, yelps as he goes flying out of his seat and slams against the windshield when Seonghwa hits the brakes. His brain is running a mile an hour trying to register what just happened, wondering if he’d just killed a drunk idiot looking for an adrenaline rush, thinking  _ fuck, this is going to be a pain in the ass to get rid of _ .

 

When he lifts his head from the steering wheel, the white haired boy raises his head from where he’s crumpled up on the ground, and he laughs.

 

“Fuck,” Seonghwa hears him say when he opens the door, “ _ Fuck,  _ how the  _ fuck  _ am I not dead yet?”

 

And maybe it’s how fucking angry he is that some bastard just almost made him _ kill  _ him that has him storming out of the car to do _ something _ . He barely registers the loud, “Hey, don’t,” from Hongjoong because he’s already slamming the door shut and two steps towards the laughing maniac.

 

“What,” he starts, gripping the junkie by the collar of his shirt and hauling him up from the dusty road while the maniac  _ laughs _ , “the  _ fuck  _ is your problem?”

 

“ _ My _ problem?” The psycho asks, still grinning. He has dimples on his cheeks and his eyes are rimmed red, pupils hazy and dazed. Seonghwa wants to knock his teeth out, bruise is pretty face just to see how he looks like when he isn’t smiling. “I don’t have one,  _ sir. _ Everything is  _ fine.” _

 

Seonghwa doesn’t register the rumbling growl that escapes his throat before he takes a swing at the boy’s face. His fist collides with the side of the boy’s cheek, hard enough to bruise, the silver ring on his finger digging into the soft flesh, and he  _ revels  _ in the choked sound that the boy makes when he hits the ground like a sack of bones. 

 

He’s about to take another swing too, maybe say something like,  _ not going to hit back, pretty boy? _ when he feels cold fingers wrapping around his wrist and pulling him back. He’s about to wrench himself away when he turns and realizes it’s Hongjoong, cold eyes and clean hands.

 

“Don’t,” he says, quietly.

 

“You hit well,” the crazy one says, wiping the blood off his cheek. He’s smirking like he’s having the time of his life, and Seonghwa almost hits him again. “I almost just felt  _ alive  _ for a second there.”

 

“I’m San,” he says, unprompted. His hair is the color of the first snow, and the cut on his cheek makes his smile seem even fuller. “Pleasure to meet you both.”

 

He’s wearing a sweater that’s torn on the sleeve, threads frayed everywhere as if it had seen better days. There’s a lipstick mark on the collar. The jeans he’s wearing have spray paint on it, and when he moved the tear on the thigh exposes stark, purple bruises.

 

He ends up in the backseat of the stolen car, legs kicked up and sipping the wine bottle he’d dug up from somewhere. His eyes shine in the blue light of the car, his lips a pretty pink that reminds Seonghwa oddly of spring. 

 

Hongjoong puts his seatbelt on this time and switches the radio to another station, which is playing one of Seonghwa’s favorite songs. He hums the melody as Seonghwa takes off into the road again. San drinks some more wine and smirks at him.

 

“Nice ride,” San says, an hour and a half into driving. Seonghwa’s almost out of the city by then, slipping into the dark highway. Hongjoong’s closed his eyes, head resting against the window, but his lips quirk up and that’s how Seonghwa knows he’s awake.

 

“Thanks,” Seonghwa says. He’s still annoyed that the bastard had tried to walk in front of  _ his  _ car, but he supposed he’s not that bad. 

 

“He stole it from his old boss after fucking his wife and his wife’s mistress,” Hongjoong adds, grinning lewdly. San laughs, loud and high, and it’s so different from Hongjoong’s laugh but so similar at the same time.

 

It’s daylight when they make it to the nearest gas station. Seonghwa exits the car and stretches, wincing when his joints crack. Hongjoong stretches too, the top he’s wearing lifting up to expose his lean, golden torso, and a flicker of silver tells Seonghwa that he has a piercing in his bellybutton. San’s eyes seem to glow even more in the sunlight. He grins at the sight of the sun and his dimples seem to be even more prominent.

 

Hongjoong goes to open the back of the car while Seonghwa uses his loose change to get himself a coffee from the be vending machine. There’s the sound of San gasping and Hongjoong’s breath catching in his throat, and when Seonghwa turns, they wave him over. 

 

It’s cash. All hundreds. In stacks. One after the other, arranged like stocky towers in the mainland.

 

They make a funny trio. A murderer with no one looking for him, a con-man with a bad background and an even worse track record and an adrenaline freak with no self preservation who’d tried to walk in front of a moving car. Finding cash isn’t a fortune that everyone has, though, so maybe being fuck ups wasn’t that bad.

 

“We’re rich,” Hongjoong says, half in awe and half in disbelief.

 

“Holy shit,” San breathes, stilted and breathless.

  
_ This’ll be fun,  _ Seonghwa thinks, flipping through a stack of money, listening to the sound of San and Hongjoong’s mingled laughs,  _ this’ll be fun indeed _ .


End file.
